


The Way to a Man's Heart

by WritingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Chef Draco, Friends to Lovers, Healer Harry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five meals Draco cooked for Harry, and one meal Harry cooked for Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way to a Man's Heart

**i.**

Harry Potter woke up with a startle. He was lying under the softest duvet he’d ever felt, on a very large bed, in a room that was entirely unfamiliar to him, even in the dark. The curtains were not entirely shut on the large windows, letting in some of the early morning sun, which ran a long yellow stripe across the middle of the bed, towards the other side of the room. Harry lifted his head from the pillow and rubbed at his eyes. He found his glasses on the nightstand, and took a proper look around the room, when the memories of the night before came flooding back. 

Finally going for happy hour drinks with Sebastian, at the new hotspot in Diagon Alley. 

Having a couple of drinks over some brilliant conversation and deciding to get a table for dinner. 

Talking more over dinner, discovering so many things they had in common. Bonding over horror stories from Healer training. Discussing childhoods. Steering as far away from the war as humanly possible. 

Sebastian’s ex showing up. It’d been recent. Neither were over it. Harry felt like a tit between the two. 

Finishing his dessert by himself at the bar, pleading with the bartender for another shot, another glass, another bottle. 

A face from the past, re-appearing in front of him. Pleasant, warm feelings. Then only darkness. 

In a split second, Harry sat up, and finally he felt the full impact of his hangover. His head throbbed loudly and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. But he remembered all of it. Being refused more drink, being carried out of the dark restaurant, then towards the Apparition point, and then—

Well then he woke up in this soft bed, wrapped in warmth and the smell of lavender. He was dressed only in his white undershirt, boxers and socks, and his watch had also been removed and placed on the nightstand, next to a tall glass of water and what looked like a vial of Hangover Potion. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he thought, grabbing the potion and pouring it down his throat without second thought, wincing at the disgusting taste, but swallowing all the same. Then he downed the water in two chugs, washing away the foul taste in his mouth. 

In less than a minute, his headache subsided and the nausea went away almost completely, making him realise he was actually quite hungry. And that’s when the scent hit him. 

Coming from the outside the door, which was left slightly ajar, was the delicious smell of a fry-up. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes – the delicious olfactory combination drifting through the bedroom, landing on his nostrils, straight into his head, and making his stomach grumble loudly. 

Harry threw his legs out of the bed, and found that a pair of slippers had been laid out for him. With a smile, he put them on, and made his way out of the room, following the scent like breadcrumbs. 

It was a small flat, and soon enough he found himself in the kitchen, where the rattlings of cooking and hissings of frying were almost drowned by the voices coming from the radio on the counter. By the cooker, with his back to Harry, was Draco Malfoy. In what looked like a pair of pyjama bottoms – blue and grey tartan flannel – and a long-sleeved white T-shirt rolled up to the elbows, with a black apron tied in a neat bow at his back, he looked entirely comfortable. And cooking truly was his element. He moved graciously over the stove, shuffling the frying pan, seasoning from high above, moving with an elegance that Harry remembered from Potions classes in the distant past. 

He wondered if he should make his presence known, but he almost didn’t want to. He wanted to keep watching Draco cook in his own kitchen, he wanted to see how easily and calmly the most famous chef in the wizarding world moved in his own home. It was a rare sight, he imagined, though maybe not. Maybe he cooked for his friends at his house, welcomed them into his domain, and shared drinks and laughs as he prepared them delicious dishes. Or perhaps he cooked romantic meals for his lovers as they sat by the counter and watched him, almost a kind of foreplay, because Harry could imagine how sensuous this image of Draco cooking could be, and the thoughts sent a shiver down his spine. 

Harry cleared his throat, and walked over to the fridge, leaning against it. Draco was undisturbed, he simply looked over but never stopped cooking. The eggs were nearly done, bright yellow on top, and the yolk would be perfectly runny, Harry knew. 

‘There’s plates in the cupboard, Potter, if you could set the table,’ Draco said, his voice calm and lacking any of the bite of their school years. It was a deep voice, but mellowed by the years, regardless of how stressful and demanding his profession was.

He complied, picking up plates and looking for some cutlery and glasses, and set them on the counter for them. There was a jug of juice in the fridge – from the smell it wasn’t pumpkin, but it was orange-coloured and it tasted sweet and tart – and a pot of coffee in the coffee machine. It was baffling to see so many Muggle items in a Malfoy kitchen, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been, as it was common knowledge Draco had gone to Le Cordon Bleu for his culinary education, and tried to assimilate as much Muggle technology as possible in his restaurant in Diagon Alley. 

Draco set the fry-up on the counter by the plates. Four perfect fried eggs and tomatoes and mushrooms. Sausages, bacon, and two portions of bubble and squeak, which Harry found amusing, even though they smelled divine. 

‘Please, take a seat,’ Draco said, and Harry complied. ‘Dig in,’ Draco added, with a smirk, at Harry’s wide-eyed admiration at the buffet he’d been presented with. 

‘Oh I’m starving. Thank you, Malfoy,’ Harry said, putting some of everything on his plate, along with two thick slices of toast, and digging in with gusto. Draco was more restrained. He ate carefully and with as much precision as he did his cooking. They ate in silence, apart from the BBC Radio 4 broadcast. 

After a few mouthfuls, Harry wasn’t feeling as famished as before, and began to slow down and properly enjoy the flavours playing around in his mouth. Draco truly was an excellent cook, the eggs were smooth and the yolk was absolutely perfect to dip the toast in. The bread itself was obviously homemade, and he could picture Draco spending his day off in his own kitchen, baking delicious breads. The tomatoes were sweet and almost melted in his tongue. He could not stop himself from groaning. 

‘Enjoying yourself there, Potter?’ asked Draco, sounding more amused than smug, which Harry appreciated. 

‘Yes, actually. It’s not often a proper chef cooks me a homemade meal, you know,’ Harry said. ‘It’s delicious, thank you. And thanks for, you know, putting me up and all that. You didn’t have to give up your bed on my account.’ 

Draco smiled at him. ‘You’re welcome. It’s fine, really,’ he said. ‘I don’t sleep much, plus I had some baking to do, so I had to be up early anyway.’ 

‘Still, thank you. I had an absolutely rotten night, and this almost makes it better. Though I’m still quite surprised you’d go so out of your way to take care of me considering we haven’t really spoken much in almost a decade.’ 

With a chuckle, Draco took a sip of his coffee, which he took black. ‘Maybe I felt there were still debts to be repaid and this was my small way of setting some wrongs right, if only by a little,’ he said. ‘The bartender, Marco, told me about what you’d been through, by the way. Rough night.’ 

‘Yeah, it was. It’s not like I was in love or anything, but being dumped like that still stings. And honestly, with a fry-up like that, you can count any imaginary debt settled.’ 

Draco shook his head, but smiled, and finished his coffee. 

After their meal, they put their plates away, and Harry insisted on cleaning up, without using magic, just like Draco had prepared the food. 

‘You’re far too noble, Potter,’ Draco said. 

‘Harry, please,’ he said, putting the last plate away. Harry dried his hands in the dishtowel and turned to face Draco, who was learning against the worktop, sipping from his second cup of coffee. ‘I feel like… Well, I don’t know, I feel like this is important, you know? That maybe we shouldn’t just say goodbye and part ways for another decade. I’d like us to be friends, Malfoy. Draco.’ Harry extended a hand.

Finally, Draco seemed surprised. His eyes widened for a split second, but he smiled. 

‘Friends, huh?’ Draco asked. He looked Harry in the eye, then stared at his hand, before grasping it with his own. Draco’s hand was surprisingly soft, though the callouses from his chef’s knife were there. It was a cold hand that sent a warm feeling up Harry’s arm to his heart. ‘You’re only after free food, and I know it,’ Draco said with a wink, once they let go of each other’s hands. 

Harry laughed and shook his head. ‘Not only.’ He winked. 

 

 **ii.**

 

Thirty. 

Thirty years old. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel different. Harry remembered all the 30th parties he’d been to – Hermione’s, Ron’s, Seamus’… Now it was his turn, and suddenly he didn’t understand why everyone made such a fuss about turning thirty. Ron had nearly cried, pleading to all deities not to age anymore. 

His own party was going to be on the weekend, but for now he was stuck in the tail-end of a 48-hour shift. No deaths during this shift, which he considered the best birthday present the universe could have given him this year, and he would soon be home to the quiet of his house, his comfy bed, and maybe a tumbler of scotch to take the edge off before he went to sleep for a day and a half. 

‘Any plans for the big three-oh, Potter?’ asked Theo Nott when Harry arrived at the Mediwizards’ station. He was flipping through some charts, and Harry did the same. 

‘My friends are throwing a surprise party they don’t think I know anything about. During the weekend, though. Tonight I just want to fall asleep for twenty hours.’ 

Nott chuckled. ‘Sounds like a plan. Make sure Weasley doesn’t cry all over himself again,’ he said with a wink and walked away. Harry laughed and shook his head. He and Nott had done their Healer training together and had a formed a strange bond out of rivalry and budding respect. Once Harry started spending more time with Draco, he saw more of Nott outside St Mungo’s as well, since the Slytherin crowd still hung out together, and it was surprising to learn how funny and sarcastic Nott was. Well, being friends with Draco, he shouldn’t have expected any different. 

‘What are you still doing here?’ asked Mediwizard Hodgins. He was the matron of the hospital, plump like Mrs Weasley, but very stern. The very best Mediwizard of St Mungo’s, anyone would say. She was the saving grace of all the trainees because she was always willing to teach a lesson and make sure they were all in tip top shape. 

‘Finishing up on this chart. I’m leaving, I promise!’ he said, putting two hands up. She squinted at him. 

‘You better be, Healer Potter. I won’t have you sleepwalking around after a 48. Chop chop, home time for you.’ 

Harry laughed and nodded. ‘Fine, fine, I’ll go,’ he said as he finished the patient chart and placed it in the pile. ‘Have a good night, Mediwizard Hodgins.’ 

‘Happy birthday, Harry,’ she said as he walked past her and he squeezed her arm.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was home. It was almost five in the afternoon, and he hoped to land in bed by six, after a long shower and maybe some toast so he wouldn’t sleep on an empty stomach. 

But before he could make his way to the bedroom, he heard some noises coming from the kitchen. The sounds of cupboards being opened and music filtered through the house, and Harry followed them, only to find an unexpected surprise on his very kitchen. 

Draco stood by the counter, putting the finishing touches on some kind of dough, while a large pot bubbled away in the stove. The soft lyrics of “Blue Jeans” filled with kitchen from the speakers. 

‘What’s all this, then?’ he asked. Draco tried to hide his small startle but Harry could see he was surprised. 

‘You’re home!’ 

‘Yes I am! You’re here too, why?’ 

Draco rubbed his hands together and looked around himself with a shrug. ‘Well, I had hoped to have this finished by the time you arrived, but anyway… I’m cooking you food. As you can see. Since it’s, you know, your birthday and all.’ He nodded towards the dough. ‘That homemade French bread you like, and some prawn tagliatelle.’ 

Harry smiled widely, feeling the fatigue from work being washed away by this wonderful gesture. Everything smelt delicious and a warmth began to spread through him which he had now begun to relate to Draco. All the small things Draco did for him that sent his heart aflutter. The cakes he baked, the jars of fudge, the times he had Harry sit on a stool in the kitchen of his restaurant trying new and exciting recipes for the menu, trusting Harry’s opinion. 

He couldn’t help himself. He walked towards Draco and enveloped him in a tight hug. Later, he could blame it on his tired bones and foggy mind, but holding Draco close to him felt too right. 

Draco sighed against him and hugged him back. 

‘I take it you are happy, then.’ 

They broke away from the hug and Harry looked deep into Draco’s grey eyes. 

‘Couldn’t be happier,’ he said. Draco blushed. 

‘Happy birthday, then, Harry.’ Draco’s hands were still on Harry’s waist, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he missed them when they were gone back to the cooking. 

 

**iii.**

‘I still don’t know why I have to be here,’ Draco groaned as they made their way to the park where the Little Quidditch League played. George and Angelina’s six-year-old Fred was playing Chaser, and the whole family came out to cheer him on. Harry of course dragged Draco along even through protests. It’s not that Draco didn’t like kids (he actually got along famously not only with his cousin Teddy but with Hugo, Rose, and all the other Weasley children) but he usually felt uncomfortable in large wizarding gatherings like this. But Harry knew he would enjoy watching little Freddy play Quidditch like a professional. 

‘You’ll like it, stop moaning and groaning.’

‘I’m not--! Oh, never mind. Fine, let’s just find a place to sit. Where are the Weasleys?’

It didn’t take very long to find the Weasleys, who were clearly the largest group in the event. Bill and Fleur had brought their kids, Louis, Victoire, and Dominique. George and Angelina were a little further away, talking to a uniform-clad Fred, and his siter Roxanne. Percy couldn’t come because of work, but Audrey was there with the girls, Molly and Lucy, and Ron and Hermione had brought Rose and baby Hugo as well. Arthur was playing with Louis while Molly was finishing the picnic set up with Fleur and Charlie, who had brought his enormous dog, a Newfoundland called Fireball. 

‘No Ginny?’ asked Draco as they approached the large group. Harry shook his head.

‘She’s got training today. Apparently she was really mad to miss Fred’s first match, but what can you do?’ 

‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of photographs and video footage to satisfy her.’ 

Harry laughed and nodded. 

‘Harry, you’re here!’ greeted Hermione. Baby Hugo cooed in her arms and grabbed at nothing in the air. ‘Hello, Draco, thank you for coming as well.’ She smiled.

‘My pleasure,’ Draco said, with genuine warmth in his voice. 

‘Where should we set up?’ asked Harry. 

‘Oh, anywhere, don’t worry. Make sure you speak to Molly.’ 

So they went and greeted Molly, who hugged them both, and after another round of hellos and good-mornings, Harry and Draco sat on a blanket on the edge of the group, next to where the children were playing together. 

Not long after, the match began, and all attentions were directed at the tiny little players. The age range was between six and ten, so everything was very safe, and the Bludgers were in no danger of causing any harm, which George had told Molly about fifteen times since the match started. 

Little Fred was already a really good player, flying fast and making really good passes. He even scored a couple of hoops, which had the whole Weasley clan on their feet. 

‘Hungry?’ asked Draco when Harry rubbed his belly. He was indeed rather hungry, having had only a small breakfast after getting home from work in the morning. He nodded. 

‘Yeah, but I can hold off until lunch.’ 

Draco grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve brought something.’ Then from inside his jacket pocket he pulled out a shrunken basket which he brought back to its normal size with a touch of his wand. Harry’s eyes widened as he watched Draco set up a snack between them from the basket. A bottle of (homemade, of course) grape juice, a few containers of different types of bread and crackers, and a plate of cheeses. Gruyère, Camembert, Red Leicester, among others, as well as a few jars of Draco’s famous chutneys. 

‘You brought a cheese board to a Little Quidditch League game?’ asked Harry, amused. 

‘It’s classic picnic food. Just because we’re outdoors it doesn’t mean we need to eat like plebes, Harry,’ said Draco. ‘But if you’d rather wait for lunch…’ 

‘No! No, it looks amazing, thank you so much,’ Harry said, grabbing Draco’s hands to stop him from taking anything away. His hands were warm and still very soft, and their touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, which made the hairs on the nape of Harry’s neck stand. He smiled gently at Draco, who smiled back, and began to dig in, trying the many different cheeses and chutneys, marveling at how amazing his friend was. 

 

**iv.**

It almost didn’t feel like Christmas this year. Ron and Hermione had gone to Australia to spend it with the Grangers, while the rest of the Weasleys had all somehow disbanded as well, with Molly and Arthur surprisingly going to Montpeillier to spend the holidays with Bill, Fleur, and the Delacours. 

Which meant that for the first time since Hogwarts, Harry wouldn’t be spending Christmas at the Burrow, and that had left him slightly adrift in early December when he found out. 

But it turned out that Draco didn’t have plans either. With Teddy having been invited to spend the holidays at a friend’s house, Andromeda and Narcissa decided to go on a trip together, which also left Draco alone. So he had invited Harry to his flat for Christmas celebrations. 

•

It had snowed this year, so the cobbled stones on Draco’s street were covered in white, and all the windows sparkled with twinkly lights from Christmas trees. Harry had never spent Christmas with Draco before, despite their three years of solid friendship, so he was curious to see if the Malfoy propriety still remained, or if Draco had created his own more homely traditions. 

He knocked on the door then let himself in with his key, and shed his heavy coat, scarf, hat, and wellies, and put the bag of gifts by the tree. It was a decent-sized tree, not too big, not too small, and elegantly decorated. It had been an effort shared between Draco and his mother over a glass or two of sherry, according to the man himself, and the soft twinkly lights combined with the candles on the mantelpiece gave the room a warm glow that made Harry feel instantly at home. 

‘Draco?’ Harry asked. 

‘In here,’ Draco yelled from the kitchen, so Harry grabbed the bottle of rose from his bag and went straight in.

‘Happy Christmas,’ said Harry with a smile. Draco looked hopelessly cosy in a maroon cable-knight jumper and fitted jeans under his usual black apron. His slippers were a deep moss green, and he also looked almost festive. His hair was un-styled, falling over his eyes in a messy disarray that was unbearably attractive. 

‘Happy Christmas to you as well,’ greeted Draco. He checked on the turkey in the oven then smiled at Harry. ‘I’ve never actually cooked a Christmas dinner before. Mother prefers to let the House Elves do it at the Manor.’

‘Well it looks like you’re doing a good job to me,’ said Harry, smiling at all the little dishes underway in the counter. 

‘You’ll eat anything, Harry.’ 

Harry laughed. ‘Well, you’re a chef, it’s not like you’ll burn the food is it?’

‘But it won’t be Molly’s food,’ said Draco. ‘I know you like hers the best.’ He turned to one of the pots and began to drain the potatoes. 

‘Are you jealous of Mrs Weasley, Draco?’ asked Harry with a smirk. Draco stuck his tongue out but said nothing. Harry wanted to press himself against Draco’s back and hold him, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he could. They’d been skirting around this for so long, every little touch was charged with so much. 

‘Grab me some of those herbs, will you?’ Draco said, snapping Harry from the reverie. And for the next hour, they worked like this. Draco cooking patiently and gracefully, and Harry observing those gentle and practiced hands, the tongue poking out of that pink mouth every so often. Draco moved seamlessly around the kitchen, and Harry was hypnotised. 

Harry set the coffee table with the plates side by side, and filled the glasses of wine with the Prosecco Draco had pointed to in the fridge. Once the food was ready, he helped Draco arrange it on the table, and finally, they sat together for their private Christmas feast. 

‘This all looks absolutely scrumptious,’ Harry said. The turkey was golden and it smelt absolutely delicious, and all the sides were gorgeous. The roasted vegetables, the gravy, the mashed potatoes with chives and onions, the Yorkshire pudding. Draco had even made cranberry sauce even though he hated it just because it was one Harry’s favourites. 

‘Tuck in, then,’ Draco said, sending Harry a brilliant smile, and spooning some sides onto his plate, then carving the turkey and giving Harry and thighs and wings, which were his favourites as well, before putting one breast on his own plate. 

The flavoursome food mixed with the crisp prosecco and the fire burning in the hearth made Harry feel comfortable and at home. It was incredible how Draco’s flat was almost as familiar as his own house now, though he actually preferred the flat because Grimmauld Place could feel impossibly big when he was alone. This was a proper home, and Harry felt perfectly at peace as his and Draco’s elbows bumped as they ate, with his back against Draco’s old chesterfield, and the Christmas music playing from the speakers by the window. 

It felt like a perfect Christmas. 

**v.**

‘It’s not a date, Mione,’ Harry said for the millionth time as he took off the millionth shirt to throw it in the Awful pile sitting next to Hermione on his bed. She looked at him in disbelief and crossed her arms. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and she was wearing her working-from-home combo of fitted jeans and a wooly jumper. The kids were with Ron at Ginny and Luna’s, and Hermione was tasked with the job of making Harry look Presentable. ‘It’s just dinner.’ 

‘Harry, for God’s sake, wake up,’ she said. ‘You two have dinner together all the time. He _cooks_ for you all the time. He has never actually _invited_ to dinner, though, and neither have you ever asked for my help getting you dressed presentably. Which is what you usually do on dates because you are hopeless.’ 

Harry gulped audibly and stared at Hermione through the glass while holding dark green shirt with small details in golden.

‘So maybe it might be a date.’ 

‘Of course it’s a date!’ Hermione exclaimed. Her eyes were wide and she stood up, walked around him and grasped his shoulders. Harry had several inches on her, but it was common knowledge that Hermione Granger could tower over any person she met with her powerful Glare. ‘Harry, we’ve all been waiting for this, okay. First it was consciously avoiding each other during 8th year, and yet you still couldn’t stop staring at the Slytherin table at every meal. Then you two somehow became friends after nearly a decade and started spending time together all the time. The tension is palpable, everyone feels it! Even Ron can tell, and you know how clueless he is.’ 

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that, while blushing at how obvious he’d been. ‘Do you think it will work out?’ 

Hermione gave him a soft smile and nodded. ‘Ten years ago I would have said no, not in a million years. But now? It’s like you’re finally comfortable, Harry. You’re so happy when you two are together, and it really warms my heart. I think you two will be just fine.’ She winked, prompting a laugh to escape Harry’s throat. 

‘All right. This shirt, then?’

‘I think it’s the One,’ she said, and Harry knew she wasn’t talking about just the shirt. 

•

They ate side by side on the coffee table again. 

Draco had prepared them salmon fillets with a creamy Piedmontese risotto and a roasted vegetable salad. It was fresh and warm, and paired with the wine he had pulled out of his small collection, it made for an absolutely superb meal. Besides, Draco also looked delectable himself, in well-fitted, dark wash jeans, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, as per usual. Harry could hardly keep up with himself – he wanted to devour the delicious food and he wanted to put his hands all over Draco, strip him from his straight edges and take him, right there on the floor. 

But he still wasn’t really fully sure this was a date, if anything because it was so similar to what they’ve been doing for the past three years. Draco prepared a meal, they teased each other through mouthfuls, laughed over wine. There were candles lit, but maybe Draco just liked candles. 

‘Are you okay, Harry?’ asked Draco as he place his knife and fork across his empty plate and leaned back against the sofa. He grabbed his glass of wine and took a sip, and Harry followed the lines of his throat as he swallowed slowly and licked his lips with that pink tongue. 

‘I’m, hm, fine.’ 

‘You don’t loo—’ 

‘Is this a date?’ Harry blurted out. Unfazed, Draco smiled. 

‘It can be whatever you want it to be, Harry.’ 

Harry looked at him straight in the eyes, those beautiful grey eyes that once held such contempt, which were now full of kindness and entirely soft. He glanced at Draco’s mouth, which was lifted on one corner, in that small grin that held the answers that Harry needed. 

He didn’t feel like talking, or asking for answers. He wanted it, he wanted Draco, all of him, right now, so he didn’t speak, the simply inched closer – they were so close already. Closer and closer, until their noses were touching and that grin was no longer there, but Draco’s hand was in the back of Harry’s neck, and the scent of him was all there was in Harry’s world. They closed the gap in tandem, and their mouths slid together slowly at first, then faster, and they panted into each other’s mouths, like they were hastily trying to catch up, to make up for lost time. 

The food was forgotten as Harry lost himself in Draco’s lips. But before the moment took him away entirely, Harry had one last thought – “what if they were all dates?”

• •

**\+ i.**

He cracked three eggs into one bowl and whisked with a fork, like he’d done many times. The bread was in the toaster, and in the oven were four sausages. Scrambled eggs were his specialty, Harry knew that. Because after all the frying he did at the Dursleys, that was the last thing he wanted to do once he got his own kitchen as a grown adult. 

So he poured the mix in the saucepan, added some salt and pepper, and began to stir gently on medium heat. These eggs would be perfectly creamy, scrumptious almost. He really needed to impress with this breakfast. Hopefully it would be the first of many, many breakfasts. The first of all. 

As he stirred a second time, he felt two arms envelop him from behind, and a chin propped on his shoulder. The familiar scent of lemongrass filled his nostrils, and memories of the night before made him blush ever so slightly. 

‘I’m not in the habit of letting just anyone mess around in my kitchen, you know,’ Draco whispered in his ear, before placing a kiss on the shell. Harry chuckled and continued to prepare his eggs. 

‘I can always leave if you want me to.’ 

The arms around him squeezed tighter. The answer he needed. 

‘So you’re cooking me breakfast,’ Draco said, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the saucepan. ‘Nice technique, I’m impressed.’ 

‘I am a doctor, Draco, it’s not like I’m wholly incompetent.’ 

‘Not wholly, indeed,’ Draco purred, grinding slightly against Harry’s back. ‘I think those eggs are done, how about we save them for later and you come back to bed?’ 

Harry groaned and turned around, catching Draco’s mouth in his. Yes, breakfast could definitely wait. He shot a Stasis spell at the food, and followed Draco back to the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching a lot of cooking videos, so I was inspired to write this. Let me know what you think -- cheers!


End file.
